


Cleaning the Slate

by Rivenlore



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Arrogance, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Body Image, Drug Use, F/M, First Love, Forging, Friendship Problems, Loyalty, My First Fanfic, My First Work in This Fandom, Old Friends, Singing??, Slippery Slope, Songs, Stereotypes, betrayel, counseling-maybe, everyone dies, good-friends, lying, non-cliche!sometimes, pretentious friends, references, semi-angst, stupid people, untrustworthy friends, why do people die
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:08:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 17,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23621335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rivenlore/pseuds/Rivenlore
Summary: Trying to survive high school, Veronica joins the most popular clique in school. She soon finds she doesn't want to be with them anymore, but she participates in their snobbish and mocking behavior in order to survive. One bad decision leads Veronica spiraling into an inescapable trap of lies and death and violence that quickly escalates. The definition of "Well, that escalated quickly..." this story is a combination of the movie and musical.
Kudos: 11





	1. Fight the Urge to Strike a Match...

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is going to be a bit long, so read if you want, but feel free to skip to the good parts.  
> Güten Tag!  
> First off, I’d like to say that Heathers is quite complex. Sure, it’s about two teens who almost went on a murdering spree of their classmates...but it’s also about the social hierarchy and friendships and families. That’s why I decided to put so much time between “Beautiful” and “Candy Store” and the rest of the songs I’m basing the plot on. So if that bores you, I’d like to apologize in advance. Try skipping to “...or you can die alone”(Candy Store).  
> In naming the chapters, I decided to use lyrics from songs they’re based on. That way the reader will understand, but it won’t be too cliche. Like starting with “September 1, 1989…” which I didn’t do. Sorry if I sound arrogant. Another reason why is because I wanted to make this seem as close to a movie of Heathers as possible. Oh, and some spaces (only the ones with weird symbols in them) signify a passage of time. Or a perspective jump.  
> One final note. This is my first major publication, or fanfic in general. I would like everyone who reads this to enjoy it, comment, and tell me what I could improve on in the story and any suggestions they have. Alright, thank you for putting up with all these non-story related words. Vielen Dank!  
> P.S. I’ll warn you when there’s violence or swearing. Just rather be safe than sorry. Tschüss!  
> P.P.S. Sorry for all the words, but none of these characters belong to me. This fanfic is based off the film written by Daniel Waters, and directed by Michael Lehmann. Some of this fanfic is also based off the musical, with music and lyrics by Kevin Murphy and Laurence O’Keefe. Thank you for reading!

Part 1: If you want to fuck with the eagles, you have to learn to fly

Prologue:

He loved books. Books were one of the only constants in his constantly shifting life. No matter where or when he opened the pages, the characters were always there. The same predictable events. Same outcomes and conflicts, and he wished he had a life like that. Or at least a book of his life. They were almost like the reliable friends he’d never had as a child, always moving around.

Now they were in Kansas, and he was out of books. He didn’t complain because he knew that wouldn’t end well. Insead, he decided to walk to the library. No one needed to know, least of all his dad. And this way, he could think of a reason for why he’d gotten home too late.

In the parking lot, he noticed something odd. A dull grey beetle with a peace sticker on its front bumper and peeling paint on the side windows. He mom’s car; the one she barely used anymore (she’d stopped using it about nine years ago, when he was born. Then she stopped leaving the house altogether when it became too dangerous to leave the house).

Mom’s here? he thought, confused. As if drawn by the thought, he looked up to the second story window. There wasn’t a reason why, but it seemed to make sense. After all, there she was. His mom. She was staring into the distance, past the window and out onto the horizon. And then she looked down at him, smiled sadly and lifted a hand in a wave. He couldn’t be sure, but it looked like a wave of farewell.

Why is she saying goodbye? he wondered, but didn’t dwell on the thought as he lifted a hand and smiled back. She made a small gesture with her hand, as if telling him to back away. He took a few steps back, still confused. She gestured again, as if to say little further.

He took a few more steps back, and his mom nodded. He grinned wider, happy to be doing something she liked for once. It was so rare for either of his parents to reward him. 

And then the building exploded. Or rather, it imploded.

One second they were staring at each other across the wide parking lot, and the next she was gone in a large plume of dust. Choking him in dust. Drumming against his ears, and shaking the foundation on which he stood. Cracking, and crashing, and the sky seemed to collapse around him until there was silence. Such a hollow, empty silence. His ears seemed to be rining with it.

He was coughing now, choking on the hazy grey air the implosion had left behind. And he looked up, startled to see it was gone. The tall, imposing library was gone, and his mom was gone. His mom was gone.

My mom was in that building, he thought. No matter how much it echoed, bouncing around, he couldn’t make sense of them. He couldn’t make sense of the empty space where the library had just been. 

And now he was calling for her, soundlessly hoping she was somehow unharmed. Hoping she’d answer her son’s calls and come out and explain everything. But she didn’t, and his body began to shake as the tears came. He didn’t care what people thought as he cried. Tears mixed with sobs mixed with screaming. Screaming because he couldn’t bring her back and she couldn’t be gone.

His mom couldn’t have just left him with his dad. All alone, with no one to shelter him. She couldn’t have...and yet she did. Unable to bear the crushing weight of this realization, he curled into a ball. On the outskirts of a parking lot of a library in Kansas, a young boy just watched his whole world crumble. He prayed for his pain to go away, and to feel nothing. If he was numb, then maybe he would never have to feel this deep, stabbing pain again.

Later, his dad would come home claiming a tragic accident had occurred. Claiming the boy’s mom had “just happened” to be at the library the day he demolished it. But he'd been there. He knew it was no accident his mom had walked into the building two minutes before it blew. It was no accident that she’d left him. The boy was only nine years old.

Chapter 1:

"And so I follow my own rules  
And I use them as my tools  
To stay alive  
I don't wanna be special, no, no  
I just wanna survive"

Westerburg high school. My school for one more year. 

The thought came from a girl standing next to an old, beaten station wagon in the school parking lot. Her dark brown hair was hidden under a lumpy hat (and anyways it wasn’t very attractive; long and well-kept but without that sheen popular girls had), and if anyone had bothered to look closer, they would’ve seen surprise reflected in her dark brown eyes. Of course no one did. Veronica Sawyer wasn’t the type of girl to draw people’s attention. In fact, she was the type of person to get lost within the school and never emerge.

Jesus, am I actually sad about this? Veronica thought in surprise. The realization that this was her last year treading the halls of Westerburg as if a bomb was going to detonate at any moment had sent a startling stab of melancholy through her.

I shouldn’t be feeling sad, she thought. I should most definitely not be feeling sad about today. If anything, I should be joyful because today is the final day I will have to stand in front of the school, dreading the coming year.

Even so, she longed to open the door of her car and cocoon herself in the familiar leather seating and faded brown paint (The car had been a gift from her oblivious parents. They thought handing down a worn down car as her first car ever was a gift. It was not what she’d imagined her first car would like.) At least until senior year was well and truly over.  
It’s just one more year, Veronica reminded herself. One more year of this hell, and then you’re off to college.

The thought of college immediately made her brighten. College was the one bright spot about school; the one thing that made going bearable. And she’d applied to all the top ones; Harvard, Duke, Brown, Stanford, Cornell...all of them. Her SAT score allowed her to go anywhere she damn well pleased, and the very first place she intended to go was far away from Westerburg. As far away from this hellhole as and Sherwood Ohio as she could manage. But first, senior year.

Veronica sighed and wrapped her coat a little tighter around herself as she reluctantly approached the stairs. As expected, she was greeted with several insults and catcalls thrown her way, but Veronica ignored them. She wasn’t important enough for anyone to follow through with their words. Pushing the door open, she suddenly had to press her body into the door as someone knocked her journal to the ground.

“Hey,” Veronica yelped, glaring at the retreating backs of the two fellow seniors. Same classman camaraderie apparently didn’t exist. All she got in response were snickers and laughter. “Assholes,” she muttered as she picked up her journal.She wished she had the courage to chase after them and demand an apology. But she didn’t. Then of course the door had closed on her, and by the time she’d gotten her journal and reopened the door, she was clogging the front entrance.

Why can’t I just have one good day? she wondered, hurrying to her first period. She’d already memorized her schedule for this year so some dumbass couldn’t rip it out her hand like they had freshman year. Isn’t it ironic how the year I finally get good at surviving this, is the year I finally escape? she thought sarcastically. That irony wasn’t lost on her.

As Veronica squeezed through the halls, they seemed more crowded than last year. Or maybe that was just her imagination. Most likely her imagination, as Westerburg had about 2,500 students in attendance (or at least enrolled; she doubted most students attended every day). She’d counted once at an assembly, just to be sure. And to be honest, she’d been completely and utterly bored of all the “anti-bullying” and “togetherness” crap Student Gov had been droning on about (most likely Ms. Flemming had been their facilitator). Not that she disliked those ideas...they just seemed far too unrealistic. 

Safely at her desk, Veronica pulled off her hat and stuffed it into her bag. Then she fished out her monocle, putting it to her eye as she opened the dark blue moleskin journal she’d dropped earlier. It was her personal diary she wrote in almost every day. She didn’t usually bring it to school-too large of a risk someone might steal and read it-but today felt like a day she ought to record in her diary for future reference. 

Flipping to a new page, she began to write in large, sloppy handwriting. The words slanted to the side in her rush to pour out her sudden inspiration before class began.

September 1, 1989.  
Dear diary, today is the first day of senior year. Already...y’know in the parking lot I almost felt sad about today. Last day of beginning a whole new year at Westerburg. I’m not sure why. Maybe I just can’t comprehend how the past three years have passed by so quickly. I think I’m a good person, she added after contemplating her rough reintroduction to highschool.

You can’t say that about many of the kids here, she thought, smiling grimly at the bleak truth. Wait...that’s not exactly true.  
There were still hints of goodness in everyone. She’d seen them on occasion when they thought no one was looking-picking up trash, helping a kid in need, being genuinely nice for once.

Veronica stopped. She reread what she’d written, surprised at the conviction she felt in the words, and how they resounded within her. The thoughts that kept her up all night, thinking.  
“We can be beautiful,” she whispered, then glanced hurriedly around to make sure no one had heard her. A statement like that could easily become taunting material, and she wasn’t looking to become a target.

But I believe we can be beautiful, she wrote. If we were good in Elementary; if we were kind back then...then can’t we be kind again? That’s what I hope for anyway.

As if that’s ever going to happen. Veronica shook her head at the idea. 

As if that’s ever going to happen, she wrote. The highschoolers here are just...my school is Westerburg highschool, home of the rottweilers. It’s less a place for education and more like the thunder dome. I’m lucky I’ve gotten to senior year without any permanent damage. Physical and mental (there are some messed up kids here). College will be paradise compared to Westerburg.

If I’m not dead by June, she thought. That was a distinct possibility. No one left Westerburg undamaged. The only reason she’d survived so long was because no one noticed her. When people like the jocks (or the Heathers, she thought grimly) took notice of people...they might as well commit suicide. Because it was worse then social suicide. And several people had killed themselves . So far this year wasn’t shaping up to be any different.


	2. ...and Set this Dump Ablaze

"So where's the map?  
I need a clue  
'Cause the scary truth is  
I'm flying blind  
And I'm making this up as I go"

_Try to stay positive. You never know what might happen._

Veronica tried to inject her thoughts with positivity, but it was hard. So hard when most of the school’s population didn’t even know she existed, and therefore didn't notice or even care about her. The thoughts of hopelessness about her school situation had followed her through all her classes up to lunch. She hoped they’d be gone by the time lunch was over. She just couldn’t handle them.

Of course her parents required her to eat school lunch; practically everyone’s parents did. Only the loners and the weirdos brought lunch from home. Some kids ate off campus, but Veronica’s parents vehemently opposed the idea of their “defenseless little girl” leaving the “safety” of the school grounds (true, she’d taken martial arts when she was in 5th grade, but that had only lasted for two months.) So even at lunch there was no escape from the barrage of bullying and hate and insults and noise.

Veronica paused in the slightly less crowded hallway to write down some final thoughts before the chaos of the cafeteria.

**Dream of ivy covered walls and smoky french cafes...just a few of the things I want to see after I graduate. I want to travel the world. I’m taking French, and I’ve never been to France before, so I want to go there first. Maybe study abroad for a while. Anything to leave Sherwood Ohio and Westerburg.**

“Whit trash,” someone called out as a student went crashing into a table. The kids who’d been sitting there scattered. They didn’t want to be associated with the poor victim, who was left to pick themselves up and scrape food and spilled milk off themselves. She stared, not understanding the insult. 

_There are only a few non-white kids here, so why...?_ she wondered.

She had to fight the urge to run over and help the kid. She knew her kindness wouldn’t be appreciated and wasn’t wanted. Still. Veronica finally convinced herself it was a good idea and hesitantly approached the boy.

“Are you okay?” she asked, kneeling next to the boy. The look of utter fear in his gaze nearly broke her heart when he glanced at her. For a moment it looked like he might take the hand she offered, but then his eyes narrowed and a hardness slid over. He quickly shifted away, as if her hand had a virus on it and even touching her would give him the disease.  
“Get away nerd,” he spat. The insult stung, and Veronica quickly stood up as the boy retreated and vanished into the crowd.  
And that’s why we’re never kind to each other, she thought bitterly. The usual sadness was there of course, but so was anger. Anger at how little the kids of Westerburg appreciated a little humanity and kindness. In frustration, she took out her diary again.

**Sometimes I have to fight the urge to strike a match and set this dump ablaze.**

As illogical and stupid as it sounded, the feeling was true. She wanted to tear down the whole place sometimes and watch it burn to the ground around her. Watch everyone who’d ever tormented another person burn. But...she wasn’t a violent person. The thought of doing that made her stomach curdle. It just felt wrong, no matter how badly she wanted it to happen. There was no way she was actually going to kill anybody.

**I know that sounds like I’m an arsonist, but some days are just so unbearable. I have to keep reminding myself to hold my breath and count the days until graduation, because it’s just one more year left. Just one more year here.**

The lunch line was jam packed by the time Veronica arrived, and she had to squeeze herself into an uncomfortable ball just to get at the red plastic lunch trays. Their flimsiness reminded her once again of how temporary this whole highschool scheme was...and yet everyone took it so seriously.

**When I get my acceptance letter and my diploma, I can wake from this comatose state and finally wake up into the real world.**  
+++  
“When are we getting our food?” Kurt Kelly whined. He didn’t mean to sound whiny, but the line was creeping along so slowly and he was so bored, and there were people pressing in on all sides, and his stomach was growling. 

Kurt was a solid jock on the football team. He played the role of the star quarterback, and with his pale tan complexion with innocent cyan blue eyes and short brown hair, it wasn’t hard to tell why. He was anything but innocent, and many adults were fooled by the apparent honesty in his eyes. His height was pretty average-if slightly taller than average-as were his conventional good looks and “beat all, get all” attitude. Somehow Kurt had risen above his allotted station in freshman year, and was now one of the most popular students at Weserburg. And he was bored and hungry, not a good combination.

“Hold it,” his best pal Ram Sweeney warned, placing a hand on his shoulder. The act was slightly cautionary-telling him not to get into trouble on their first day back-rather than a warning: No one at this school could tell Kurt what to do. If they even dared to question him, they’d be beaten black and blue and left out with the trash.

Ram was more cautionary than Kurt, who tended to act on impulse rather than logic. Lucky for him, Ram was always there to make sure he didn’t mess up too badly and to watch his back. He had sky blue eyes which weren’t quite as innocent as Kurt’s, but he always seemed to get his way anyways. He’d gotten onto the football team as well, and played defensive linebacker. His hair was chestnut brown with a slight wave in it that was concealed by its shortness, reaching just past his ears. Ram was an almost exact replica of Kurt, and acted as his “second.” Some could describe him as a half-trained, vicious dog ready to be set loose by his master.

“I wasn’t going to do anything,” Kurt muttered sullenly. Irritated, he shrugged his friend’s hand away. But Ram had just noticed a new arrival. Squashed, small, nervous and preoccupied, the brown haired girl looked like the perfect target to end Kurt’s boredom. 

“Watch this,” Ram snickered as he shoved his way towards the oblivious girl.  
+++  
“Oooops,” a familiar voice crowed, not at all apologetic as Veronica’s tray suddenly flew out of her hand and landed on the linoleum floor with a clatter. She started, glaring first at the plastic tray, then slightly up at the boy who’d just smacked it. 

“Ram Sweeney,” she muttered, glowering at him as he turned and began shoving his way back down the line.

 _My first day back couldn’t be getting any better. And my parents wonder why I tried to feign sickness last year,_ she thought.

“Third year as linebacker, and eighth year of smacking lunch trays and being a huge dick.”

Somehow Ram heard her last words, and her heart sank as he turned and stalked back towards her. She knew what students said about him, but she’d never been at the receiving end of his attention. And now she was. Veronica really didn’t want a fight, or any confrontation. Not just because she didn’t have one clue how to defend herself, but because fighting was not her thing. She was more of a peacemaker then a fighter.

“What did you say to me, skank?” Ram demanded, almost nose to nose with her as he waited for an answer. Her cheeks reddened at the insult, and she could only gape and swallow nervously. Any words or thoughts she would have responded with seemed to have fled. Ram was talking to her. He was going to make her want to commit suicide before the year was over if she said the wrong thing. The defiant part of her wanted to tell the truth, but more of her saw the stupidity of doing that.

“Ah...nothing,” Veronica finally muttered, hating the words as she lowered her eyes in what she knew he’d see as submission to his superiority. Anger curdled in her chest as he let out a satisfied snort. He was superior in every way, and she wasn’t. She clenched her teeth and tried not to retaliate with the many responses that had flooded her mind as he left. Doing so would only make her position worse. Even though he had no right to do that. 

_I should have stood up to him,_ she thought, glowering after Ram. _I know we can be beautiful...it just takes certain people some time to learn that._

Someone tapped her one the shoulder, startling Veronica out of her reverie. She turned around, and her face broke into the first genuine smile all day. 

A girl with short brown hair stood there, grinning back. She had dark eyes which were wide in delight at the sight of her friend. She was wearing a lumpy looking sweatshirt with dulled sparkles on it, and Veronica wondered if she'd slept in it. 

Martha Dunnstock had been Veronica’s best friend since they were in diapers. She’d been nicknamed Martha Dumptruck, because of her size and weight were matters the other students thought was okay to taunt her for. She had this air of innocence and naivety that morons like Kurt and Ram often liked to pick on. So of course teh whole school had picked up on it, and now she would be forever known as “Martha Dumptruck.” Her “fashion sense,” if it could even be called that, was horrible. Veronica doubted her friend realized her clothes only increased the tainting she endured. She had repeatedly tried to explain this to Martha, but her friend kept insisting the other kids would “come around” to accepting her style of dress. Which consisted of childish clothes more suitable for young girls, paired with equally childlike accessories. For example, the glittering plastic clip in her hair.

 _Oh, Martha,_ Veronica thought as her friend retrieved the lunch tray. She loved her friend dearly, but wished she could help the girl better her situation.

“Hey Martha.”

“Hey,” Martha said, grinning widely. Veronica was sure she knew what her friend was going to say even before she spoke. It was a tradition of theirs to watch movies late into the night at least two Friday’s every month. And there was only one movie Martha was so obsessed with that she knew every line. “Are you free this Friday?”

“Of course,” Veronica said. “You know I am. It’s not like I have anyone else to hang out with. Thanks for picking up my tray.”

Martha smiled happily, and the glee with which she spoke next never ceased to surprise Veronica.

“I rented The Princess Bride!”

“Oh...again?” Veronica asked, although she’d been expecting the movie. It was just that… “Don’t you have it memorized by now?”

“What can I say?” Martha asked hopelessly. She didn’t seem to find a problem with Veronica’s statement. “I’m a sucker for happy endings.”

The two of them paid for their lunches and walked to the table at the back of the caf. Already sitting there was Betty Finn, Veronica’s only other friend. She was the opposite of Martha in almost every way. They were both so naive, but at least Betty seemed to realize that. Her pale brown hair hung lank and down to her shoulders. She had a headband on and large rectangular glasses. Of Veronica’s two friends, Martha was mocked and taunted more. 

“The Princess Bride?” Betty guessed. “On Friday?”

“Yeah,” Veronica said as she sat down.

Martha went to sit down as well, but just before she was about to sit, the seat under her was yanked away and she flopped onto the ground. The food tray followed not long after, and the milk carton burst upon impact. A snicker followed by snorted laughter came after this, and all three girls turned to glare at the perpetrator; a boy in a red letterman jacket.

And now Kurt Kelly, Veronica thought, injecting as much venom into her thought as possible. She wished the venom would infect his veins and he’d die on the spot. Running into Ram for the first time in my four years here wasn’t enough.

“Kurt Kelly; quarterback,” she muttered. “He is the smartest guy on the football team. Which is kind of like being the tallest dwarf.”

“Martha Dumptruck!” Kurt shouted. “Wide load!”

He started honking like a dying goose, and others turned to look. When they saw Martha on the ground with food and milk all over her, laughter started up. Watching Kurt get away with something he’d been getting away with for most of his life; watching him treat someone so horribly with no consequences or reprimand...it was enough to make Veronica’s anger come back in full force. No one should treat anyone else like that, especially if they were as privileged as he was. No one had the right to. And before she knew what she was doing, Veronica had shot up.

“Hey! Pick that up right now!” she demanded, pointing at the tray. Martha and Betty looked nervously at her. They obviously didn’t know what she was doing, and neither did she really. Kurt’s laughter cut off abruptly at her words, and the jock turned to glare at her. And then he stalked over, Ram at his heels. 

“I’m sorry, are you actually talking to me?” Kurt asked, the derision clear in his tone. He spoke slowly, as if making sure she could hear the words. He locked eyes with her, daring Veronica to respond. If Ram was the beta, then Kurt was most definitely the alpha. She’d heard girls had crushes on him, but Veronica viewed him with the same level of disgust one might treat a dead rat with.

“My buddy Kurt asked you a question,” Ram said. He stepped up next to Kurt, and glared down at her. Side by side, they formed an impenetrable wall of muscle and intimidation that almost madeVeronica lose her courage. Then she remembered what they did. How they treated people. 

“What gives you the right to pick on my friend?” she demanded, trying to make her voice steady and strong. 

The eyes of the cafeteria seemed to be on Veronica as she spoke. It made her uncomfortable and self-conscious. She was suddenly aware of how badly this could go, just like her last encounter with Ram.

“Look at you,” Veronica continued. “You’re a highschool has-been waiting to happen. A future gas station attendant.”

Kurt’s expression said he highly doubted that. It was more likely that he’d die as a martyr than live as a has-been. But he was floundering with an answer to her words, and Veronica started to sense hope. Maybe the tables were actually starting to turn in her favor.

But then he spoke, “You’ve got a zit right there,” and pointed at her forehead. Then Kurt laughed as if that was the funniest joke ever, and he was back in control. The rest of the watching students started laughing.


	3. Send me a Sign God

"It's a puzzle, it's a maze  
I tried to steer through it a million ways  
But each day's another wrong turn"

Veronica sank back down in defeat. She shouldn’t have hoped. The bullies got their way. No matter how hard people fought and resisted, they always won. There was no use fighting.

“Why do they always get away with it?” she wondered aloud. Then shook her head at the stupidity of the question. “Because they’re popular, and no one cares about us.”

“That was so brave of you,” Betty said to her, and Veronica smiled a little.

“I’m sorry,” Martha said. She was still sitting on the ground, and Betty bent down to help her. Veronica retrieved her chair, and they did their best to wipe off the food and milk. It wasn’t pretty, but they got a decent job done.

“Why is highschool so awful?” Betty asked.

“Why does Ram hate me so much?” Martha asked. 

Veronica didn’t even try and explain the situation to her friend and her hopeless crush on Ram. Ever since Kindergarten, when she swore Ram had liked her, Martha held out a hope that he still did. As far as Veronica could see, he didn’t. But Veronica didn’t feel very much like breaking this news to her friend, so she stayed quiet. Instead, she opened her diary again and stared down at the pages.

_Why?_

That’s all she could think.

_Why? Why is everyone so awful? Why does everyone seem to hate each other? Why don’t we fight back against bullies like Kurt and Ram? Why do they act like creeps when they weren’t in elementary? When did we get so horrible to each other, and decide humanity was a thing of the past? Why do I cry myself to sleep?_

Veronica had to lean her head on the table and close her eyes. There was no hope anymore, was there? No use fighting.

_I need somebody to hug me, fix me, tell me I’m the center of their world and they would do anything for me, she thought. I need somebody to save me, otherwise I don’t know how I’ll get through this year. It doesn’t have to be big...just send me a sign god. Give me some hope here. Something to live for._

As if on cue, three girls walked into the caf. The “Holy Trinity,” as Veronica sometimes liked referring to them. But because they all went by “Heather,” the three girls were known as the “Heathers.”

The first girl who entered wore her fluffy black hair in a low half-ponytail tied back with her signature yellow scrunchie. Her blazer was a paler, lighter yellow over her white blouse, and she wore a white and yellow striped knee length skirt. A small black belt wound around her waist, the only non eye watering part to her ensemble. On any other girl, the outfit would have looked dorky and trying too hard. However, the head cheerleader pulled it off without a hitch. 

The second girl was Heather Duke. She walked with a swagger in her step, most likely to make up for her utter lack of personality. Her dark amber hair shone in the lights as it flowed loosely down her back. In Veronica’s humble opinion, Duke’s hair was the prettiest and the most original thing about her. Her blazer and stockings were a dark, leafy green, so unlike McNamara’s bright, cheerful yellow. For some reason that Veronica couldn’t figure out, Duke was the head of the yearbook committee. 

And then.

And then she came in. The most worshipped and thought about girl in Westerburg: Heather Chandler. Unlike the other two, the mythic bitch was somehow still a junior in highschool. She wasn’t even a senior, and yet she was extremely powerful. Unlike the yellow and the green the others wore, Chandler wore red. It was a bright, almost effervescent red that reminded Veronica of blood. Maybe that was the point, to remind everyone who looked at her that Chandler was the most powerful person in Westerburg. 

She had her curly, strawberry blond hair pulled back into a half-ponytail similar to McNamara’s, except it was obvious McNamara had taken the cue from her. And Chandler used a red scrunchie to hold her hair back.

As the Heathers swept past, Veronica made a strangled noise in the back of her throat. Whether it was a sigh of envy or wistfulness, she wasn’t sure. She wasn’t prone to jealousy or spite. But the reverence with which people watch the Heathers walk by….the feeling came so close.

“If I could sit at their table,” Betty sighed, “boys might notice me.”

“I’d like them to be nicer,” Martha added.

“That would be beautiful,” Veronica agreed. She sighed and watched as the three Heathers sat down at their table. There was no denying getting to sit with them would be like getting a sign from God. But it wasn’t for her. She sighed and opened up her journal again.

**Guess who just entered? The Heathers, of course. They’re the most popular girls-the most popular students-at this school, and that means they practically float above all the shit that goes on around here. I don’t understand what gives them a free pass. Just because their names all start with Heather….god. It’s like they’re solid Teflon. No one bothers or harasses them.**

**There’s Heather McNamara, and she’s the head cheerleader. She wears yellow, and her dad is loaded (he sells engagement rings). I don’t understand why Heather Duke is even a part of the Heathers. She doesn’t have any discernible personality. Unless you count implants and a snarkiness that shouldn’t be considered cool. She’s like a miniature copy of Heather a Chandler.**

**Okay, what do I say about Heather Chandler? She’s the most worshipped, thought about girl here. She is a mythic bitch….and she’s only a junior.**  
+++  
Once again, Heather found herself in the girls bathroom. Skipping class as usual. Heather said it didn’t matter, because no one cared. They were loved and respected by everyone, therefore they could do whatever they wanted.

Heather didn’t agree with that philosophy. She thought they should use their power to help the students, not to skip class. But Heather was most likely right. Especially if it meant helping their friend.

Who was currently kneeling in front of a toilet, puking out her guts.

“Maybe you should see a doctor, Heather,” she suggested. Heather looked up at her, and shook her head silently, as if hoping the comment would slip under Heather’s notice. But it didn’t.

“Grow up,” she said, turning to look as Heather bent over and retched again. “Bulimia is so ‘87. You've been doing this since freshman year, Heather.”

“I don’t like my doctor,” she got in, and then her eyes flicked to Heather. As if hoping this dismissal of adults would win her some praise.

Heather sighed and closed her eyes, wishing not for the first or the last time that she wasn’t here. In the bathroom. She could be using her time much more wisely, like practicing with her cheerleading team or studying (she was struggling in math) or maybe-

“What you need Heather, is a mint,” Heather said dismissively as she finished re-applying her makeup. She glanced at Heather as if she should be doing that as well, but Heather didn’t want to. She really didn’t want to see Heather in the mirror, puking up her guts. It might give her the urge to puke, and she didn’t want Heather to see her that way.

The door opened, and the two of them turned in surprise. Classes had just gone into session. No one should be walking in on them. Heather moved slightly so she was blocking Heather from view. She didn’t think she’d want anybody to see her throwing up, and besides that's what friends did. Right?

Ms Fleming walked in, a smug smile tugging at her lips. She seemed too happy to see the three of them. Ms Fleming was by all accounts the hippie teacher. The crazy one who wanted to talk about feelings and how everyone was flawed and forgiveness and….Heather would have liked her. She wanted to talk about those things sometimes, but Heather would never let her. 

Except Ms Fleming seemed to have this invisible vendetta against the Heathers, and she took too much joy in getting them into trouble. So Heather's sympathy for her had run dry a long time ago.

 _I told Heather we shouldn’t be here,_ Heather thought. She glanced at her friend to see if she looked as embarrassed as Heather felt, but she didn’t. Heather didn’t even look bothered, as if she didn’t care they were about to get thrown into Detention. _I’m going to be thrown off the team because I couldn’t practice the choreo because I was in Detention, because of Heather-_

“Ah, Heather and Heather,” Ms Fleming said. Faking surprise as her smile widened and she shook her head in mock disappointment. As if to remind them of her presence Heather retched again. “And Heather,” Ms Fleming added with a hint of disdain.

“Perhaps you didn’t hear the bell over all the vomiting?” she asked with that fake pity adults sometimes used. Heather hated it when adults used such patronizing tones. As if they thought being a teenager meant they were less intelligent than they really were. As if it wasn’t obvious they weren’t listening to the bell. But maybe to Ms Fleming they weren’t obviously skipping class, and she felt it was her duty as a teacher to inform them of that fact. Or maybe Heather was just looking too deep into Ms Fleming’s words. “You’re late for class.”

Heather didn’t respond for a moment, and then she made a piteous face and said as piteously as possible, “Heather wasn’t feeling well. We’re helping her.”

Heather watched in amazement as her friend pretended to be a caring, concerned friend. The change was crazy. Even her eyes somehow looked softer. Heather sighed, wishing Heather could be like this more. If she was just more sympathetic….She also couldn’t help admiring how confident and sure Heather looked as she lied. If it had been her bluffing, she would’ve frozen up. But Heather didn’t. 

But Ms Fleming wouldn’t listen, no matter what Heather said. All she wanted was to get them into trouble. And get some credit with the other teachers.

“Not without a hall pass you’re not,” Ms Fleming said with the fakest smile of pity Heather had ever seen. “That will be...” she considered, glancing between the three of them. “A week of Detention.”

 _A week?_ Heather thought. She opened her mouth, and a garbled version of, “You can’t do that,” came out. 

Heather glared at Ms Fleming and her, “My parents will hear about this,” got lost in the excuses and words coming from both Heather, and now Heather, who’d gotten up. Their words jumbled together into an incoherent mess, and she began to panic because Ms Fleming’s smile was growing.

“Actually,” a new voice chimed in. they turned to see a girl with dark brown hair and wide, dark eyes standing in an open stall. She was holding a notebook and a slip of paper, and looking nervously around at them all. Shifting from foot to foot the girl continued speaking. “...Ms Fleming, I have the hall pass.”

Ms Fleming stared at her as the girl brushed past Heather and handed the teacher the hall pass. Heather couldn’t help staring at the girl as well. They all knew this must be some ruse because they obviously weren’t out on a hall pass...except Ms Fleming’s smile had vanished as she read over the paper.

“It’s for the yearbook committee,” the girl said helpfully.

“I see,” Ms Fleming sighed. She handed the slip of paper back to the girl and stared very dramatically at the four of them. “You’re all listed. Hurry up then.”

She stared at all of them as if trying to see if any of them would confess this was a trick. No one spoke, and Heather didn’t dare breathe until Ms Fleming had walked out.

“This is an excellent forgery,” Heather said as she examined the “hall pass.” The new girl smiled tentatively, but it vanished as Heather looked over at her. “Who are you?”

“I-uh...” the girl seemed taken aback that Heather would want to know her name. And frankly, so was Heather. This girl may have saved them from Detention, but she wasn’t that important. “I’m-Veronica Sawyer.”

Heather repeated that name a few times, trying to think if she’d ever heard it before. But she didn’t remember it from anywhere.

“I crave a boon,” Veronica said suddenly, and all three of them stared at her.

“A boon?” Heather repeated. Her tone was clearly one of disdain as she stared at Veronica. Heather shifted uncomfortably, looking over at Heather to gauge her reaction. She was eyeing the new girl with the same disdain as Heather was. “What boon?”

“Um….let me sit at your table,” Veronica said. “Just once,” she added, as if sensing the ridiculousness of her request. “I don’t have to talk at all-I just-if people think that you tolerate me, they’ll leave me alone.” 

She ended with such a hopeful expression that Heather wanted to say yes at the moment. Because she remembered what it was like to not have anyone to turn to. How amazing it had been to be included by Heather. But then Heather glanced back at her and Heather, and she could tell she wasn’t going to accept this new girl anytime soon.

Heather and Heather started laughing at Veronica, and Heather joined in uneasily. If she didn’t pretend to think this girl was asking for insane favors, then Heather might kick her out as well.

“I can do report cards,” Veronica said bravely. “And absence notes, and permission slips.”

It was a bargain. If she could sit with them, they would gain her excellent forgery skills. Heather looked over at the hall pass she’d faked and it did look very real. If she hadn’t known they weren’t supposed to be in the bathroom, she would’ve thought it was real

“What about prescriptions?” Heather asked hopefully. She seemed to have forgotten her quest to empty the contents of her stomach into the toilet, and was instead focused on Veronica.

“Shut up Heather. No, she doesn’t do prescriptions,” Heather said. “Why would you even want them?” 

Her tone held obvious disdain for the girl, and she looked down at the ground, embarrassed. “Sorry Heather,” she muttered.

But Heather wasn’t listening to her, and Heather felt she should say something. Didn’t Heather notice how Heather hated everything about her? How she ate food she only vomited out later? Didn’t Heather notice what was going on with their friend? Apparently she didn’t care, because now she was eyeing Veronica thoughtfully, and Heather felt her stomach sink.

 _She’s not actually considering accepting Veronica, is she?_ she wondered. 

Heather tilted Veronica’s head back and forth for a moment under the bright lights of the bathroom, and then she smiled and nodded.

“You do have good bone structure for a nobody,” Heather mused thoughtfully. Heather came closer, intrigued by the statement. And indeed, she did. She also had a very symmetrical face.

“And you have a symmetrical face,” she said. Veronica looked over at her, startled as Heather walked over and held up her hand to Veronica’s nose. “If I was to take a meat cleaver down the center of your skull, I would have matching halves.”

Heather shot her an irritated look that seemed to say, "Is that really necessary? You don’t need to terrify her."

But Heather was having too much fun and she grinned at the startled look inVeronica’s eyes. Messing with this naive girl was so fun. And it was true. People were scientifically attracted to people with symmetrical faces. 

“Huh,” Heather muttered, shaking her head. “Of course she could lose a few pounds,” she said with her usual venomous tone. Heather wanted to hit her for being so mean, but neither Heather nor Veronica seemed to be listening to her.

“You know…” Heather said thoughtfully. “This could be beautiful.”

She gestured to Veronica and the girl smiled a little, surprised. Heather stared, and then she and Heather looked at each other in surprise. What was going on? Heather was acting so strange all of a sudden.

 _Is Heather Chandler really thinking about accepting Veronica?_ Heather wondered. _It would be an advantage to have someone who can forge people’s handwriting….but we never accept people. She’s really thinking of accepting her?_

“Maybe...” Heather mused. “If we had some mascara...maybe some lip gloss?” And then she smiled and stepped back to survey Veronica’s face, as if looking for the correct lighting in which to apply the makeup. She held out a hand. “Heather, I need your brush, and we need something else...maybe some blush.”

"Are we really doing this?" Heather mouthed to Heather behind her back. She shrugged and went to get her brush. No matter how illogically Heather seemed to be acting, she was the leader. There wasn’t really anything the others could do.

“Let’s make her beautiful,” Heather decided.“Heather?”

She looked over at them, as if waiting for their agreement. They nodded and smiled, agreeing with her statement. 

“Okay?” Heather asked, turning to look at the dumbstruck Veronica. She didn’t quite seem to believe this was happening either. At Heather’s question, she opened her mouth for a second but no words came out. There was a beat of silence, and then she grinned.

“Okay.”  
+++  
Another day, another lunch. The magic of the first day had long since vanished, if first days even had magic. Martha highly doubted it, but she didn’t really pay attention to first days. Especially her first day of senior year, because Veronica had vanished. Like a magic trick. She’d been there, talking to them, writing in her diary. And then she went to the bathroom and they hadn’t seen her again for the rest of the week.

And the Heathers had vanished as well. A respite, as Betty called it.

“Where’s Veronica?” Martha asked again. By the expression on Betty’s face, she was getting tired of hearing the exact same question over and over. Even though they were both wondering about it. Where was their reliable friend? 

“Maybe she’s busy...making up homework?” Betty suggested feebly. But they both knew that wouldn’t be the case. Veronica never got her homework in late, except when she was sick-which she never was. She was opening her mouth to make another suggestion when someone called out.

“Who’s that with Heather?”

And Martha didn’t know why, but her whole body jerked in her chest. Almost like when she saw Ram, because even though she didn’t know who it was yet, it was as if her body knew who it was. She couldn’t help standing up as a crowd started to form at the entrance to the caf. Almost a line of kids as she saw the movement of Heather McNamara passing.

“Whoa,” someone else said. 

“Who is it?” Betty whispered, but Martha could only shrug. She wasn’t about to risk pushing through the crowd of students to see. Still. A gap opened up, and Betty was able to push through as they saw Heather Duke sweep by.  
“Heather, Heather, Heather, and….” 

There was a small silence and then she could hear Heather Chandler’s commanding voice fill in the blank the students had left.

“Veronica.”

“Veronica, Veronica, Veronica….”

Her name traveled from one end of the cafeteria to the other, and Martha thought she must be deaf. Or maybe it was just another girl named Veronica. Their friend wouldn't abandon them so easily over….over popularity, would she? 

At some signal Martha missed, the crowd slowly dispersed and Betty came back to her. She was quiet and stared in the direction of the Heather’s table. Martha turned to stare as well, and she didn’t know what to feel. Surprise? Shock? Confusion? Betrayal?

Heather McNamara. Heather Duke. Heather Chandler. And sitting next to her was...Veronica Sawyer.

Veronica Sawyer, remade. She looked less awkward than usual, more confident as she sat with them. Her usual attire had been traded in for an azure blue blazer that appeared fitted, and she wore a dark plaid skirt as well. And in her hair...Martha wished she didn’t see the dark blue scrunchie. That was just another sign she’d completely transitioned to being with them.

“How did that happen?” Martha asked dully, but Betty didn’t have an answer for her.

As happy as Martha felt for her friend’s achievement, it stung that she was so quick to leave them behind. That if Veronica was able to leave them behind so easily-if she could become this successful, popular individual...then what did it mean for someone like her?  
+++  
Veronica didn’t notice her friends. Her former friends. 

At the moment she was too excited to think about them, because she was part of the Heathers. They had accepted her, and she was one of them now. She resisted the urge to pull the blue scrunchie out of her hair and examine it, because she couldn’t believe she was now one of them. It was just so amazing. 

Beautiful, as Heather would say. Life was beautiful.

Sometimes….she thought. Sometimes life works out. You hope; you dream, and you pray for a thing to happen...and sometimes you get your way. My prayer that day was answered by Heather Chandler. I got accepted into the Heathers. I just...sometimes life can be beautiful. My god, life is beautiful.


	4. Let's make her beautiful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I haven't been writing in forever. I just got writer's block on my "test subject" my Wattpad version of this story, and now I'm returning. I'm just saying, try to bear with all this perhaps boring plot and character set up. It'll speed up soon 😁

"But now, because of technology,  
You don't have to be strong to survive!  
Which means there's never been a better time in history to be a loser! Ha!  
So own it!"

Being popular was strange. It was as if Veronica had become a whole new person, even though she felt like the exact same person as before. People treated her differently (namely noticing her for once, and treating her with a strange reverence), and stares and whispers followed her wherever she went. In class she always felt eyes on her, even though when she turned around no one was looking in her direction.

"They just don't know what to think," McNamara told her one day at lunch. Unconcerned, and reassuring at once.

"What?"

Veronica ducked her head in embarrassment. She hadn't realized her confusion was showing so badly. At McNamara's words, she wanted to shrink into her seat, or just vanish into her car until the school year was over. Somehow avoid all this attention clinging to her. Being a part of the Heathers was so...so tiring. Couldn't she shake them off for one second? The thing was, Heather Chandler insisted she ride to school with her (no doubt to keep an eye on her), while Duke and McNamara rode in the jeep (Veronica thought it was strange that Duke owned a jeep, but she was in no position to judge). So she'd had to deal with Chandler on the car ride to school, and make up some lame excuse that morning when her parents saw Chandler's car in the driveway.

"Who's that?" her mom had asked.

"Oh-uh...a friend," Veronica managed to get out. She nodded emphatically when her mom stared in surprise. Still preoccupied with wondering what other excuse she could come up with if her mom inquired further, she was caught off guard when her mom crushed her in a hug.

"I'm so proud of you honey," she'd said. "I knew you would branch out and find new friends. Even if it's in your senior year. I know you're still friends with Martha, but-"

"Yes mom," Veronica quickly interrupted. She was unwilling to talk about them, especially right before school. Especially right before getting into a car with Heather Chandler.

"I'm proud of you already," her mom said, and Veronica wanted to cringe at those words. There was nothing her mom should be less proud of.

"Oh, great," she muttered, and left it at that.

But how did she run away now, trapped at the table with all three of the Heathers? It felt like a dream at the very least. Like a movie, and someone would yell cut! and this would all be over. She'd gotten her diary out several times to write in it, but every time Chandler some snide, subtle remarks about how childish it was and Veronica had stopped writing in it in her presence.

One thing she seriously hadn't expected was how vulnerable she felt. Eyes on her at every second, judging every move she made. And she didn't even have Martha and Betty's company to help ease her nerves. They were the first to shun her, and with good reason, she realized.

_I abandoned them with no explanation. I managed to achieve something we've all been dreaming about since sixth grade, and I can't even talk to them._

Her eyes unconsciously raked the tables, searching for them. Trying to see if they were okay. Maybe if she got their attention she could somehow explain herself?

After a second of searching she found Martha. In the far corner, sitting alone. She looked so sad and miserable as she stared down and Veronica willed her to look up so she could smile. Let Martha know she still cared about the girl. But Martha didn't look up, and Veronica wanted so badly to get up and go over to her friend. Even Kurt and Ram seemed to be repulsed by her, not even making one comment about her or looking in her direction.

Betty sat closer to Veronica, but she was no easier to contact. She seemed busy, engaged in conversation. Sitting with a group of kids who all seemed the same, somehow. Chattering little birds, and Veronica suddenly recalled how Betty had said they were kids she attended camp with. Her "camp friends." Betty and Martha and Veronica had agreed childhood friends and school friends were more important and that was that. Betty had sat with them.

And yet the moment Veronica had left she abandoned Martha. They'd abandoned each other, and it was so strange to see them sitting without each other. Almost a second hand betrayal.

Veronica wanted to get up and reunite her friends. She wanted to tell them it was the same her underneath all this popularity and new friends. They were still her friends, no matter how much she hung out with the Heathers. But she could feel Chandler's eyes on her. Just waiting for her to abandon them after she'd so graciously accepted Veronica. And that wasn't a chance she was risking. So Veronica had no choice but relax and talk with the Heathers. 

Which wasn't very hard. It was mostly gossiping about other students (McNamara) or planning how to humiliate the various other students (Duke, except she was mostly reading).

"Peter wants me to do another political lunchtime poll," Chandler sighed. She seemed more disinterested then anything as she spoke, as if it was a mere inconvenience.

"Hasn't he run out of ideas?" McNamara asked, sounding a little more interested then Chandler. She responded, but Veronica wasn't paying attention. She'd heard them going around and around with this conversation for several weeks now, and she didn't really care what the lunchtime poll topic was anymore (or even why they had a lunchtime poll anyways).

She stared resolutely at Peter, trying to drown out the buzz of conversation behind her. He was a senior like them, and stood near the entrance. Medium height with shortish light brown hair and he was a kind of friend. The kind of person you bond with when you're reeling from a car crash, and can only turn to the closest person to you. Most of the time he was into politics, which also extended to the "Foodless Fund."

Feeding the World. Literally. 

A banner beneath the table he stood at read "Westerburg Feeds the World" and a large cash box on the table read "Foodless Fund." Apparently he thought the high schoolers were as into helping other people as he was. 

"He thinks if he stands there long enough, everyone will care enough to give a few dollars," Duke said, almost reading Veronica's mind.

"And some do," McNamara said. "Just not as many as he'd wish."

"Let's give him twenty," Chandler suggested when she saw Veronica frown. It almost seemed like she was showing pity for the strange attempt at helping the world. Or maybe she thought Veronica was concerned. Or maybe she was trying to set Veronica up. Whatever it was, she really didn't want to have anymore time with Chandler then she needed to. "Veronica?"

"Um. No thanks. I want to..." she gestured vaguely at Duke, who was too engrossed in Moby Dick to acknowledge what was going on. "Shit, Heather. That's tiny. What book is that?"

Duke finally looked up as Chandler snorted, and dragged McNamara off to donate the "Foodless Fund."

"Moby Dick."

"No, I know. But it just looks so tiny-"

Indeed, the book was a very small one. Extremely thin as well, and Veronica wondered how Duke could possibly be reading a copy of Moby Dick. The copy in the library was huge and heavy, and not...tiny and lightweight like the book she was currently reading.

"Oh..." Duke flipped the book around and stared at it thoughtfully, then shrugged. "It's Moby Dick."

She didn't really sound like she wanted to talk about the book. Veronica was forced to look around instead, but that proved to be too painful. She didn't want to see Martha and Betty not talking to each other yet again. So instead she stared at her tray and tried to pretend life was normal ad she wasn't extremely popular. Which was hard because she could still feel all those eyes on her.

"Veronica."

She looked up, trying to act casual when all she wanted to do was walk away. This was not the life she'd imagined when she accepted Heather Chandler's invitation.

"Yes Heather?" she asked, suddenly remembering that day in the bathroom. The first day of the school year. And it felt like years-centuries-ago, when they had walked in and she'd asked to sit with them. Never imagining it might actually happen.

But she'd seen how differential Duke and McNamara were, and she'd promised herself that no matter what, she would not let herself be like them. Let someone else order her around as if she was their servant. And yet here she was, waiting on Chandler's word. 

"Do you play croquet?"

"Croquet?" Veronica echoed, glancing at Duke and McNamara for help. But they looked completely serious. "Uh-no?"

What is croquet anyways? It sounds like some old fashioned sport old people used to play, she thought as Chandler sighed impatiently. The girl tugged on a patient smile as she sat down, and held out her hand. Palm up, but not facing Veronica.

"Um...what?" Veronica started in confusion. Duke shook her head slightly at Veronica, as if telling her to shut up. McNamara dug through her bag for several second before getting out a pen and placing it in Chandler's hand. 

"Here," Chandler said. She drew four small ovals on a spare piece of paper that had suddenly appeared, and showed it to Veronica. "These stand for the mallets. You use them to play."

Chandler added a stick to one end of each oval, and then wrote "red," "black," blue," and "yellow" on the four mallets.

"And each player had a ball they play with that corresponds with their mallet's color," McNamara added helpfully.

Chandler nodded and slid the paper over to Veronica. "Remember this for later; we'll pick you up after school."

"Why are you picking me up?" Veronica asked again as she picked up the paper and examined it.

"To play croquet, of course."

"Pillowcase," McNamara muttered as she looked over at Veronica. She shook her head a little and then left for class, leaving Veronica to stare down at the paper.

_Really? Is this my life now?_


	5. Benefits of being popular

"Picture this:  
Nobody cares if you are late  
'Cause even teachers think you're great  
Your weekend's just a full on slate of blowout benders  
Of teenage rockstar splendor"

**Dear diary, you would think being popular would be fun.**

**I mean, it sounds so fun to have everyone care what you think. Asking for your opinion on everything that's going on. But I suppose the saying "the grass is greener on the other side" is true. Being popular, especially with the Heathers, is not fun. I have to deal with all of them all the time, and it just feels like I'm the only sane one.**

**I mean, I don't understand any of them. Heather Duke is so quiet all the time, its like all she wants to do is read and escape Heather's notice as much as she can. I kind of feel sorry for her, because Heather does bully her a lot. It's not really something very outright, except for those few times she tells Heather to shut up. That's kind of fun to watch. I know that sounds mean, but Heather Duke can just be so annoying. I'm trying to help her. I'm trying to engage her in conversation and she seems to think I'm the rudest person in the world.**

**I think Heather McNamara is nice. I mean, I think she has the ability to be nice, and she certainly tries to be nice to me, at least. She's tried to be nice much more then Heather Duke. The thing is that she takes all her cues from Heather Chandler, which is not fun. I know she could be a great person if she just tried to stop obeying Heather Chandler so much, but I don't think that's a possibility. I mean, Heather Chandler can be very overwhelming. Overpowering all the time and I wish I could crawl away from her. Just escape.**

**A few weeks ago the Heathers introduced me to this game. It feels like it should be for fancy rich people, not for us. Not for me. I don't really know much about it, except its called "croquet" and Heather Chandler seems to love it a lot. These past few weeks have been...unpleasant. Every time I play with them I'm apparently doing something wrong, and at least one of the Heathers has to tell me what I'm doing wrong. At least McNamara tries to help me. At this point I think I'm getting the rules, but its so much harder then it looks. Something about hitting the balls through these hoops to gain points. Wickets? I don't know.**

**Why am I even doing this? Why don't I just leave the Heathers, and go back to my old life? Oh right, Chandler's using my forging skills to mess up other people's lives. What fun. What a jest.**

"Veronica?" her mom called from outside. Sitting on the patio, relaxing just as she always did on the weekend. Of course. Her dad would be out there as well, reading a book or one of those magazines he always liked, or possibly smoking (Veronica didn't smoke; she didn't see the point of it and the new studies that had come out said smoking was bad for your health).

"Yes?" she called, letting her monocle fall and looking down at the words she'd written. Veronica sighed. If only she had the nerve to say all of this to the Heathers, face to face. Then maybe everything could go back to normal. But of course, she was too much of a coward. And now her mom was calling her, and now she needed to go and talk to her, otherwise her mom might think Veronica had hung herself or something equally outrageous.

Sighing, Veronica got up and headed downstairs. Outside, they were indeed sitting at the patio. 

There was a tray with some bread sticks and...and pate. She didn't know when it had become a family joke. Sometime when she was younger definitely, but ever since Veronica could remember they'd referred to it as pate. In truth, the dip was liverwurst. At this point, her parents didn't seem intent on calling it anything else, and Veronica didn't feel like doing it either. Besides, it tasted pretty good too (even though it was an acquired taste).

"Yeah?" Veronica repeated as she stepped out onto the patio and surveyed the yard. It was a large lawn, with trees in the far end and bushes all around. Some might have said it was too large of a lawn, unnecessary for their house. But all she was a part of her house. Plus, there were the strange statues her parents had added (they were metal sculptures of naked humans, and her dad said it was "a study of the human body" but Veronica thought they were weird).

At the sight of her daughter, Veronica's mom smiled.

"We haven't seen much of you," she said. She was a woman in her later thirties with a serious, unconcerned air about her. Her hair was floaty and thick like Veronica's, but she never seemed to notice it. Sometimes Veronica tried to imagine her mom as a teenager, but she always got stuck.

"Yeah," Veronica agreed, sitting down at the table. Her mom offered her a bread stick, but Veronica shook her head. She wasn't hungry, or in the mood to eat.

"I thought you'd be less busy, since this is your senior year."

"Ha, yeah...you know, new year. New friends." The words slipped out before Veronica could stop them, and she tried not to react to them. She tried to speak with as much enthusiasm as possible, but it was hard to at least sound nonchalant about it. Really, acting casual was incredibly hard when she'd basically abandoned her Kindergarten friends for these shallow, and almost conceited girls. For popularity points.

 _Survival of the richest,_ she found herself thinking. And then she regretted speaking as her mom perked up.

"New friends?"

"Uh...yeah."

Veronica distracted herself from the suddenly probing look her mom sent her way by taking some of the pate and eating it. Why did her mom choose now of all times to suddenly be paying attention?

"So...who are they? Are they nice girls?"

"Hmmm..." Veronica debated whether she should tell her mom the truth or not. "The Heathers," she answered. She didn't answer the second question because obviously...well obviously they weren't "nice girls." "They're really popular at school."

Veronica glanced over at her mom, wondering how she'd react. Had she been popular when she was in high school? Maybe, maybe not.

"That's nice," her mom said, smiling. "But you know you don't need them, right? Don't let those popular girls change you Veronica. What about your friends Martha and Betty-"

"I need them," Veronica interrupted. She got up and walked inside, unsure how to deal with all the thoughts in her head. The guilt at betraying her friends, and lying to her mom-well partially lying to her-and the distrust and almost hate when she thought of the Heathers. Why had she made her life so complicated?


	6. Sweet Dreams Veronica

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for being gone for so long. I just lost inspiration and had to search for it for a while, and I also have gotten so many good ideas for this :)

"It implants in your brain and it tells you what to do  
It tells you what to do  
It's preprogrammed  
It's amazing  
Speaks to you directly  
You behave as  
It's appraising  
Helps you act correctly"

Being the Heathers fourth wheel had its toll. In the larger sense having four wheels increased stability and steering control, but it only worked when the speaker was utterly cheerful and oblivious. But Veronica was not happy or cheerful when she meant it. In any situation being the extra wheel meant you were hanging out on the outside, and she was. At first they'd treated her as the rising star of the group, which made her feel awkward and weird.

After all Veronica had never been the center of attention like this before and it was nice. It was quite nice. And unsettling.

Like anyone getting tired of a new toy the Heathers quickly pushed her into the back, still there but not nearly so much. Before it had been the Heathers and her. Now it was simply the Heathers, and she happened to be one of them. Somehow they carried their own kind of foreboding, and warnings. Veronica would get these feelings whenever she was forging a note to get them out of class when they shouldn't be, or when they were trying to mess up someone's day.

 _This isn't me,_ she kept thinking. _I'm not actually here._

And yet she was. Some of this foreboding must have crept into her mind. Somehow her subconscious must have known what was to come later on, because several weeks into April she had an unsettling dream. Maybe it was being influenced by the argument she'd just had over stupid croquet. It was just a stupid goddamn game, and yet Heather Chandler insisted on being "red" all the tome as if that was her color? It was stupid. It was so fucking stupid, Veronica couldn't even-she'd left then. Trying to save some of her intelligence.

And now she was here. In the grass. In the grass...

What? she thought. There wasn't room to turn her head, but she was most definitely in a large yard. A large green lawn full of...statues. Like her parent's garden. There were bushes everywhere, and flowers. A pristine white table, with four seats. And on each seat-on each seat was

Red

Green

Yellow

The Heathers. 

They were talking. Conversing, joking around (well maybe not joking) and smiling. Without her, but Veronica didn't feel put out. She didn't feel betrayed or anything like that. The sight put fear in her, especially when Heather pulled her hair into a red scrunchie. The movement was fluid, not quite drawing attention to her, but still. At her cue the three girls got up, and in unison stepped onto the bed surrounding the table. There was an audible crunch as the stems cracked under their shoes, but they didn't seem to mind.

As they started walking, the girls kept talking to each other, keeping Heather Chandler in the middle. When they got to some croquet balls on the lawn, they stopped. Veronica stared at them as they stopped, wondering why the balls were there. Were they going to play a game...or?

Heather McNamara stepped forward first, and hit her ball without much effort. It didn't hit anywhere near the target, and she almost sighed.

"Damn." McNamara turned back to the other two as she sighed. "Heather, it's your turn," she said to Chandler. 

Chandler stepped forward as if she was going to hit her ball next, but then spoke in a near condescending voice. "No Heather, it's Heather's turn." Then she looked over at Duke, who was still reading. "Heather?"

She looked up now, ashamed to be reading. "Sorry Heather," she muttered, then tossed her book and stepped forward to hit the ball. McNamara and Chandler looked at each other, and Chandler looked like she wanted to smirk but witheld it.

Chandler stepped forward and picked up her ball. She kissed the red surface for a moment, as if passing its luck onto her. And then she hit it, and it bounced off Veronica's head.

 _Some dream this was,_ she thought when she woke up. _Remind me to not play croquet with them again._


	7. Nein

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha okay so hope you don't guess who this is. Also, I pulled the whole essay about war out of nothing because it seemed like something he would say. I also had no idea what else to name this chapter, so...

"We start with stars in our eyes  
We start believing that we belong  
But every sun doesn't rise  
And no one tells you where you went wrong"

Do you think wars are a good thing?

War brings death, and death...is death a good thing? Every moment of the day, people are being born. They are dying as well, but war brings a much higher toll on life. At this moment humans are growing exponentially on this planet, and if we reach a certain tipping point it will be too late. We will all die. Of course wars damage the economy and industries of most large countries, but again, that's the price to pay for

He really didn't have to answer the prompt in the form of an essay. Oh, he knew that's what he was supposed to do, but essays were stupid and foolish endeavors teachers used to keep students busy. It was a waste of intellect and time. Still, the essay gave him a reason to write. A reason for him to keep going at the moment; something for him to focus on besides the fact that maybe the essay was too nihilistic; his books had already been read many times over; and his dad was out working.

Assignment finished he considered waiting for his dad to get home so they could...talk? Well what would they say to each other? "I love you?"

Week days weren't the best times. He didn't feel like staying up to talk to him at all.

So there was nothing else to do except go to his room. He got up and wandered away from where he'd been working. Stretching his legs felt nice, but that didn't change the fact he would be stuck here for a week, maybe a bit more, and then-repeat. Always up and going. The boxes weren't unpacked yet. No doubt they wouldn't be fully unpacked, ever. He snorted in annoyance as he tripped into one of the piles of boxes. They were always getting in the way.

They had arrived late in the day on Sunday, but that didn't mean he got to skip school. He had to attend most of the week up until today, and it hadn't been too bad. Except the teachers wanted to introduce him and then he'd had to interact with people and everyone thought he was going to stay and sometimes that was too much-too much stupidity at wasting time and energy on a useless, crappy education he was never going to use.

Maybe it was stupid. Correction, it was irrationally stupid of him to still want this comfort as he opened one of the boxes and rummaged around. His dad was woefully ignorant in many areas that did not have to do with his job, and that included the guns. There were a few variations and types, but the one he was most skilled with was the colt. He'd bought two in case he needed to teach his dad, or he needed a replacement. But right now he only really needed one.

Even though he knew the ammunition was stored in a different box, he checked the chamber. Empty. That was good. No need to shoot his head off in the middle of the night.

The gun was unnecessary, but sleeping in a new house always made him feel cold; vulnerable and scared like he'd been as a child. And he would not let himself feel that way again. Not since his mom had died.


	8. A new game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, the titles aren't really relating to the songs or the plot anymore because I couldn't figure it out anymore. Sorry about that. But here the tension is building....also if the text looks wonky I'm experimenting with HTML so I'm sorry abt any inconveniences

"In all the time I've been by your side  
I've never lost control  
No matter how many times I knew you lied  
Have my golden rule  
Got to keep my cool"

Foreboding from her dream followed Veronica long after she'd woken up. There was just something about the way they'd so casually walked over and-tried to hit her? Hit her with those croquet balls? Veronica had never quite liked the game anyways, but still. This fear felt stupid. It was irrational, and yet she couldn't shake the feeling as she headed to school. 

Chandler greeted her with a smile when Veronica walked up to her. She tried to return it, but she just couldn't. And as soon as she could Veronica came up with some excuse to leave and escaped the Heathers. She quickly walked away, trying not to appear suspiciously eager to leave. When she was sure she was out of sight Veronica headed to a stairwell and sat down. Already she was feeling more comfortable, away from the eyes of Chandler and the other Heathers. 

_Heather told me she teaches people Real Life,_

she wrote. A sentiment she had been too busy drilling into Veronica and the other girl's heads every single day. 

_She said Real Life sucks losers dry. If you want to fuck with the eagles, you have to learn to fly._

Veronica smiled a little as she wrote how she'd responded to that. She could still remember the spite in her words as she responded, only tempered by her smile. Besides, she had been able to brush off the words easily enough. 

_I said, 'So you teach people how to spread their wings and fly.' She said yes. I said You're Beautiful._

A knock on her shoulder sent her pen skidding across the page. Veronica popped her monocle out and then glared up at the girl. 

"What is your damage?" came out. It was a turn of phrase she'd adopted from the Heathers, and for a moment she felt like one of them. 

"Uh-I'm sorry," Martha sputtered, and Veronica stared at her former best friend. Is that really what they were now? She took a few steps, and then stared down, sheepish and embarrassed to be talking to her. "I just wanted to say you-you look beautiful these days." 

"Thank you," Veronica said tentatively, unsure how else to respond. She couldn't remember the last time they'd spoken to each other. Had it only been the first day of senior year? 

_God, that was so long ago. I feels like forever._

"I'm still me," Veronica said. No matter what Martha said she was still herself, even if her former best friend thought otherwise. "No matter what happens its still me under here, Martha." 

Martha smiled a little and seemed like she was about to respond, but then another girl walked over, standing in front of Veronica. 

"Heather wants you in the caf, pronto," McNamara said, looking down on Veronica without sympathy. She opened her mouth, unsurprised by Chandler's order.

"How very," Veronica sighed. She turned to Martha to say goodbye, but the girl had vanished. Most likely scared away by McNamara. "I was talking to someone," she snapped at McNamara, who shook her head with a little smile.

"Or you weren't. You didn't look very busy to me."

She didn't bother snapping a reply as she got up and followed McNamara into the caf. As usual, the caf was pandemonium when Veronica entered. Yet another reason why she'd been sitting in the stairwell. the caf could get so loud and chaotic sometimes, and it was just too much to handle. Everyone's voices blending into a loud cacophony, and so many moving people. It was just too much sometimes. Veronica would have turned around and headed to the library right then, but McNamara glanced behind her, as if waiting for Veronica to catch up.

The moment they reached Chandler Veronica got a very bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. Chandler had a smug smile on her face as she turned to face them and smiled. She looked pleased to see Veronica, way too pleased.

_Whatever's making her happy can't be good._

"Veronica," Chandler said. Any irritation at Veronica's other mess ups, or how she'd refused to fall smoothly into line after her had vanished. She pulled a crumpled yellow paper off the table next to her and opened it slightly. "Got a paper of Ram's," she said, looking over to Veronica. "I need you to forge a hot and horny but realistically low-key note in his handwriting." She glanced around fro a moment before glancing over at McNamara and Duke. "You'll need something to write on. Heather bend over."

Even though both McNamara and Duke were standing there, they all knew who she meant. Veronica looked away, feeling a swell of pity for the girl as Duke bent over. Her back was quite straight, as if she'd had too much practice being someone's table. It looked so degrading, but somehow Duke seemed used to the treatment.

"What should I write?" Veronica asked. She looked over at the note again, wondering what Chandler wanted with a note of _Ram's._ She looked over to where Ram and Kurt were sitting at their table. She couldn't imagine how to make the note sound "hot and horny but realistically low-key." Of course at that moment Ram looked over, and Veronica wished she was anywhere but there. Caught in her new life, too scared to leave.

+++

"What do you think they're doing?" Ram wondered as the yellow Heather and Veronica Sawyer entered the cafeteria. They walked over to the green Heather and Heather Chandler, and then started talking. Veronica glanced over at him with almost thoughtful eyes. She was an interesting girl, very quiet but sometimes she showed a spark of intelligence. Kurt didn't appear to be listening as he also glanced over.

"It'd be so righteous to be a Veronica Sawyer-Heather Chandler sandwich," he said, and Ram couldn't help picturing that image. He couldn't help wishing it was him in the middle, not Kurt.

+++

"Hi honey," Chandler started. She paused to watch Veronica write down the words. "I've been watching you...and thinking about us in the good old days. I hope you can come to my party this weekend...I miss you. Ram. Put and XO after the signature and I toned down the contents," Chandler said with a small smile as she finished speaking. "Don't want to scare her away."

"What's this note for anyways?" Veronica asked as she examined it. Definitely toned down from what Chandler had asked, but it seemed okay. She took off her monocle and examined the paper, almost proud. It was a pretty spot-on forgery.

"You remember how Ram used to hand out with Martha _Dumptruck?"_ McNamara asked, leaning over to examine the note as well. She smiled over at Veronica, pleased with the result as well.

All the air seemed to leave Veronica's body as she realized what she'd done. Chandler didn't seem to notice anything amiss as Veronica struggled to come up with a response. She couldn't believe what she'd just done. How was she supposed to undo this type of damage? Maybe her and Martha weren't friends anymore, but she still cared for the girl. How could she undo this type of damage? So she laughed, pretending Martha was just another nobody she'd never heard of before.

"Shit Heather," she said. "I don't have anything against Martha Dunnstock." 

Chandler raised a slight eyebrow, and Veronica almost flinched as she realized she needed to use their name for her: Martha Dumptruck. 

"You don't have anything _for_ her either," Chandler pointed out coolly. Apparently she hadn't noticed Veronica's friendship with the girl.

"Come on, this'll be very," McNamara said encouragingly. Veronica glanced over at Duke, and she looked up at them. There was a small smile there as she spoke up.

"Ram kissed Martha Dumptruck," she said in a singsong voice. "And it was disgusting," she added quietly, grinning.

"I don't know, Heather..." Veronica said doubtfully. "I'll think about giving it to her."

At the very least this would get her in possession of the letter, and then maybe she could get rid of it without anyone knowing.

"Don't think," Chandler reprimanded, a flash of her earlier irritation returning. She suddenly had the letter and before Veronica could protest she'd called Kurt and Ram over.

_Shit, this is getting too out of hand._

"God, aren't they fed yet?" McNamara asked suddenly. Veronica stared at her, confused by the out of context statement until she saw McNamara looking at the Foodless Fund. "Do they even have Thanksgiving in Africa?"

Veronica laughed in disbelief, glad to have a distraction. "Oh, sure," she said with low key sarcasm. "Pilgrims, Indians, tater tots; its a real party continent."

McNamara grinned and was about to respond when Kurt and Ram showed up.

"Yeah?" Kurt asked.

"Be a sweetie and give this note to Martha Dumptruck for me," Chandler said sweetly. She didn't even have to bat her eyes at them and they were reaching for the note.

"What?" Veronica yelped. She reached for the note as well, but Kurt already had it. He started unfolding it. "No!"

"Don't read it," Chandler said disdainfully as Kurt started to unfold it. "She's having extra heavy flow and and wanted some advice."

As expected, Kurt was disgusted by even the notion of periods and held the note far away from him. Seeing her chance, Veronica darted forward and snatched the note. Then she faced Chandler.


	9. or You can die Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen up  
> Let me tell you a story  
> A story that you think you've heard before  
> ...  
> History's about to get overthrown
> 
> Changing time period to ?  
> 

Some people would say Heather Chandler lacked a heart. They would say she was a demon. Even the demon queen of high school you could say. She loved that feeling. How scared everyone else was of her. How much power she could have over other people. And she was only a junior.

Except, of course, Veronica. That girl. She kept ruining everything.

Heather had expected her to resist; to fight till the last. But seriously?

Now?

“You’ve come so far,” Heather said, smirking a little at Veronica’s expression. “Why now are you fighting me?"

"What-"

"I'm the most worshipped girl at Westerburg," Heather said, "And I'm only a junior."

Veronica's eyes darkened and she straightened. "That doesn't give you a right-"

"You can hang out with us," Heather said, gesturing to herself and the other two girls. Heather Duke smiled a little and nodded, while Heather McNamara stepped forward.

"I would normally tell you to leave," she said, "But I'm feeling nice. Instead, here's some advice for you."

Veronica glanced away, obviously thinking. Trying to avoid looking at Heather.  
+++  
No one seemed to get it. No matter how long things went, no matter how many times they repeated...people never learned, did they? 

But this time he wasn't going to get involved. Involving himself in every situation was too tiresome, and besides, this girl was going die anyways (not literally of course. This wasn't that kind of story for highschoolers). He met her eyes for a second, and he couldn't help a small smile from crossing his face.

Maybe she would show she was different.

Heather Chandler snapped something, and the girl looked back at her.  
+++  
_Advice?_ Veronica wanted to scoff. _Are you serious right now, Heather?_

The last thing she was going to impart to Veronica was “advice.”

“You could come join us,” Chandler said, and McNamara grinned along.

“Hang out in her Porsche after school with us; it’ll be very,” McNamara smirked a little at Veronica’s startled look.

“Honey, watchu waiting for?” Chandler asked in an almost superfluous and sarcastic voice. “Step into my candy store...” she hummed.

“You’re offering that life to me? Like a “candy store” full of new opportunities?” Veronica asked, and Chandler laughed, reaching out to tap Veronica’s nose.

“Of course you’re quick, yes. If you’ve got the balls to step up.”

“What-“

“If you do, guys will fall at your feet,” McNamara said. “They’ll help you with everything...” The girl trailed of suggestively, and Veronica wanted to choke. Heather Duke snorted, and shook her head.

“In order to do that though,” she said almost bitterly, glancing off.

Veronica followed her gaze, wondering for a moment if she was looking back at the boy too. He’d been watching Veronica last time she looked over (by accident of course) and she realized she didn’t know him at all. He seemed unknown, and oddly interested in her. That was probably just a fantasy, though.

“Say goodbye to shamu,” McNamara said, looking off with Duke. Veronica’s heart sank and she looked over as well, following their gazes to-

Martha.

No, Veronica thought. Even though she’d already “abandoned” her friends, she refused to dump Martha like this, especially if it meant humiliating her with the note.

“Veronica,” Chandler sighed, drawing her attention back. “That freak’s not your friend you know.”

“Look, if she had your chance she’d abandon you as well,” Duke pointed out, eyeing Veronica with almost reluctant eyes. “You know that.”

Veronica looked away at the reminder, and swallowed as the Heathers started speaking again.

“She’d leave you to rot like the trash she saw you as,” McNamara said with barely repressed glee. “Of course if you don’t care-“

“Fine,” Chandler sighed, as if Veronica had deeply wounded her. The fake defeat in her voice dug into Veronica, causing guilt dig to into as well. Wasn’t she making all of this into too large of a deal? Why did she care where she had lunch, anyways? “What do you want, go have a slumber party, braid her hair?”

“Maybe Sesame Street is on,” McNamara snickered, and Duke smirked a little, obviously amused by that.

Veronica let out a huff and looked away, eyes drawn once again to that boy. He was looking away this time, and she felt a stab of disappointment. Well, why did she care? This was just a distraction from the larger problem; Heather Chandler and the dictator she was, right? Still...

“Forget her.” Chandler’s tone was cool, commanding Veronica to stop all this nonsense. Quit whining and putting up such a fuss. After all, the benefits outweighed everything else, right?

Chandler glanced back at the other two girls, and they glanced at each other. Obviously sharing a joke Veronica knew nothing about.

“Step into my candy store..” Chandler repeated again, smiling at Veronica. As if everything was right in the universe. Veronica clenched her jaw, sucking in all the words she wanted to say. Chandler was still talking, her woes drilling into Veronica’s brain no matter how hard she tried to dismiss them. For once the words weren’t false threats and glorified arrogance, but genuine threats. 

“You just have to prove you’re not a pussy anymore,” McNamara said with an air of confidence that reminded Veronica all too strongly of Heather Chandler. 

“Live the dream with us,” Duke offered. Out of the three Heathers her eyes were the kindest, the most sympathetic and Veronica felt a faint smile slip onto her face.

“Or end up like her,” Chandler said, gesturing to Martha. Veronica looked over, and then opened her mouth in shock. The letter was there, the letter she’d been holding.

“How-“ 

But the glint in McNamara’s eyes answered her question. Of course, misdirection and while Veronica’s grip slipped and the other two piled on their threats McNamara had snuck over and-given that note to Martha. She’d given the damn note to Martha. Veronica stared, and hens he looked back at the Heathers, and they were watching her with smiles.

Of course Heather Chandler knew what Veronica was thinking. Of course she knew. She'd done this on purpose, to show Veronica how truly powerless she was. Veronica looked around for someone, anyone to help her; some friendly face. Pretty much no one was looking here way-she met the eyes of the boy again, and he slowly shook his head a little. No help from him, even though he seemed to find this entertaining.

"Veronica!"

Her heart sank so fast Veronica wasn't sure how she was still standing. She turned around to see Martha sanding behind her, looking unsure about herself but still, so, so happy. And Veronica felt sick. This was because of her. Martha had this stupid false hope because of Veronica and her stupidity.

"Yes?" Veronica asked, trying to keep her face expectant and unknowing. Martha didn't seem like she was going to notice anyways. 

"I was right!" Martha squealed. Veronica stared at her for a moment, trying to figure out the statement.

"What?" she asked, this time in real confusion.

"He really does like me!"

 _No he doesn't Martha, its just a note I wrote out fo spite for the Heathers. This is all my fault, not some delusion of yours that a stupid high schooler could like you. He isn't even worth your time,_ Veronica thought. But of course she didn't say anything. How could she?

The Heathers were there, watching. They were always watching. Maybe if she lived in a world without them Veronica would have confessed and Martha would have avoided so much humiliation and shame. But that wasn't the world they lived in, so Veronica didn't say anything.

"I knew he still liked me," Martha said quickly. Her eyes were shining and she couldn't seem to stop grinning as she looked down at the note. "He wrote me a note. It's not the most polite," she added sadly, but smiled at Veronica as if that was fine. "Guess what?"

 _This is all a setup?_ Veronica wanted to say. Instead she shook her head.

"What?"

"He invited me to a party!"

 _No Heather, what are you planning?_ Veronica wondered, looking over at the Heathers. Chandler had a stupid, smug smile on her face, as if she could read Veronica's frustration. McNamara was staring at Martha, as if waiting for the girl to realize this was all a dream. And Duke was staring at Martha too, although her eyes looked sadder, and she was frowning a little.

"Ah, really?" Veronica asked, forcing disbelief out of her voice. Maybe she failed, because Martha stared at her in annoyance. 

"You don't believe me?" she asked. There was an awkward pause, and then Martha continued speaking. "I can't believe he invited me! He's never done that before. I bet I'll see you there. Oh, isn't it going to be fun?"

"How very," Veronica said vaguely, trying to imbue as much sarcasm in there as possible. But now Martha was shaking her head at Veronica, and had walked back to her seat. 

_What have I done?_ Veronica thought, staring after Martha.  
+++  
"So...what are you waiting for?" 

Heather wanted to smack the stupid girl in the head for stealing her line. Heather Duke wasn't Heather Chandler. There was no reason for her to be taking the lead role right now. 

She pushed Heather Duke back, giving her a low, "Shut up Heather" before she turned back to Veronica. First, Veronica acted like she could do whatever she wanted. And now Heather Duke seemed to have been infected by that idea as well. Heather couldn't let people start to think like that. She had to end this right now.

"Step into my candy store..." she said. Veronica glared at her, then looked away, watching her friend staring at the note. Ah, Martha's naivety still struck Heather as the funniest thing she'd ever seen. How did someone survive high school with that outlook on life? Answer: they didn't.

"What are you waiting for Veronica?" Heather McNamara asked, stepping up. Veronica took several steps away from her, backing into a nearby table.

"Time for you to prove you're worthy," Heather Duke chimed in. Veronica glared at her, then shifted that glare to Heather.

Oh, if looks could kill Heather would be dead by now. But of course they couldn't, and Veronica was just one stupid girl.

"So, what are you going to choose?" Heather asked.


	10. authors note

I know I've been terrible with chapter updates, and I would like to apologize. This is definitely an ongoing project that I will complete, I just lack motivation.I lack self confidence in everything I do, so there's also that struggle. Thank you to whoever has been reading my work, no matter how bad or contrived the plot is. I'm not very good at characters, or setting, etc. Anyways, I'm surrounded by schoolwork and I need to focus on that for now, so I will take a break from wiring for a while. Do not worry, I will come back, and Iwill definitely start updating _regularly._

So thank you for bearing with me and clicking on my work, you don't know how much it means to me.

Edit: maybe not regularly, but I will finish this project


	11. Are We Bullies with Friends? Or Friends with Bullies?

"He doesn't rattle easily  
He's such a calm and cool collected guy  
And if he kills while he's with me  
Like it or not, I have his alibi"

 _I'm not going to choose anything,_ Veronica wanted to say. _Not you, not Martha or Betty who I've already abandoned._

But Chandler's eyes were still burning into her mind, and that threat hanging over Martha's head. Veronica was sure they were going to humiliate her some way at the party. The thing was, how far could they really go if Veronica was there to stop it? So for now, she'd have to put up with the Heathers until things got better.

"Why did you do that?"

The question was phrased more like a statement then a question.

"Do what?" Veronica fired back as she turned towards the speaker. Old fashioned, stupid, is what she was thinking. Who the hell would ask someone who'd just been reprimanded by the Queen of the school "Why did you do that"? And besides, the answer would be easy. The answer was-

 _Why **did** I do that? _ she wondered. It was an epically fatal decision. Now, if she didn't want to face consequences, Veronica would have to bow down to whatever demands Chandler came up with. Not pleasant in the slightest.

"Why did you let them do that?" he repeated the question, again almost like a statement. There was a peculiar tone in his voice that reminded her of an actor...Jack Nicholson? It was the same slight drawling, affected tone, but coming from that boy from earlier. The one who seemed to like watching people suffer.

Veronica didn't quite know what he meant by "them." The look in his eyes seemed to be referencing not just Chandler threatening her, but something...the letter to Martha?

"How should I have known-"

"They're going to kill that girl," he said, almost sympathetically as he glanced over to where Martha was sitting. And she reluctantly looked to Martha.

The girl was sitting there with a slight smile, still sad. But-she was looking down at the letter. As if it was her only hope.

 _Fuck. Fuck, what did I do?_ she wondered.

Veronica glanced back at the boy to see what his reaction was. Well, she just wanted to see if he really enjoyed suffering from anyone, or just the popular kids like her.

After all, that's all he would have seen, not knowing that she, in fact, was not one of those girls. Veronica didn't fit with them. And like before, he seemed to find it amusing, his eyes shining slightly, and-it was so strange.

She had never met someone who looked so innocent and yet-there was an air of something deadly serious in his expression, and his posture. Even though his eyes seemed so light and innocent, and-

 _Ugh, it's not that complicated,_ she thought. _No one is that complicated. Besides, I don't need his opinion on my friend!_

"You've clearly got a soul," he said, now talking to her. Veronica looked at him, raising her eyebrows slightly to seem skeptical. In truth, she was way too interested in why he thought that; or was he just quoting miscellaneous old school authors to seem highly educated?

"You just need to work harder keeping it clean." And then there was a look that very clearly seemed to be making fun of her. If she hadn't known better Veronica would have expected him to wink at her, marking it as a joke. There was still that infuriating almost smile that she didn't understand, though and-"We are all born marked for evil."

He spoke almost too seriously, as if those were his words. Veronica couldn't quite figure out what he meant.  
And then she realized he'd been reading a book, right? 

_Why did he suddenly move over here? Don't tell me he did that just to talk to me?_

That was a stupid thought. Whoever this boy was he wouldn't do that. 

_See?_ Veronica told herself as he walked away. _That was it. Nothing else._

So why had he been watching that humiliating talk with Chandler?

_Because he likes to see people suffering._

Really though, who was he? Veronica could swear she'd never seen anyone like him at school before, so...maybe he was new here? Maybe he'd transferred for some reason? 

_I wonder what his name is,_ she thought. Would it be a name to live up to his so far mysterious life, or would it be a disappointment? Or maybe she was completely overthinking this, and nothing was this complicated. 

"I didn't catch your name," she called after him. Because really, he owed her that much. Didn't he?

He paused, and looked back at her, almost smiling. "I didn't throw it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I've been super busy with a new fandom (the Death Note musical is super cool), and work. There is so much going on in the world right now. I hope everyone is safe right now with Covid, and is doing okay. I kinda have been suffering from writer's block as well because I'm not sure how I'm supposed to make the movie and musical combined????? 
> 
> But hey, at least I'm trying. Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I'm gonna be uploading much less frequently, I'm sorry. It's just me being over paranoid with the various scenes, so...I hope you'll understand.


	12. playing his game

"I’ll catch him when  
I look through his eyes  
See what he sees  
And then improvise"

_Sit back down._

_Sit back down._

_Sit back down._

That's what Kurt kept thinking. He could only repeat those lines to himself, over and over as he tried to stay calm. There was a new boy in the school, and he seemed to be testing the boundaries. Talking with the Heathers, as if he could do that every day. Brushing Veronica off as if she was just another student. The whole thing made Kurt bristle. Who did this boy think he was?

"Who does that guy in the black jacket think he is anyways?" Kurt snorted, watching as he walked away from Veronica. "Bo Diddley?"

There was too much arrogance coming off his casual posture, and the way he so simply-walked away. And Kurt glanced at Veronica to see her staring after the boy, making things worse. He thought he could come in, and talk to anyone he wanted, just because he was new?

"Veronica's into his act, no doubt," Ram said, echoing Kurt's thoughts. Kurt nodded, trying to remember what he'd been repeating in his head. It was too late anyways. This guy needed to learn a lesson.

"Let's kick his ass," he suggested, getting up. 

Oddly, Ram didn't move. He looked up at Kurt with a pinched, annoyed look in his eyes. 

"We're seniors, man," he said, forcibly dragging Kurt back down. "We're too old for that shit."

 _We are?_ Kurt thought. He glared at his friend, but sat down and watched as the boy wandered over to another table. Completely oblivious and naive. _I thought we picked on weaklings all the time._

There was a whole entire minute when Kurt was convinced Ram had turned into a blubbering idiot. And then Ram sighed, shaking his head as he got up.

"He should be as well," Ram spat, glaring at the boy.

He didn't seem to notice Kurt and Ram approaching. Much more likely, he was ignoring them and hoping they would go away. Even when Kurt wrapped an overbearing arm around his shoulders, the boy didn't look up. He flinched slightly at how tight Kurt's hold was, but he didn't really blink.

 _What kind of pyscho doesn't blink?_ Kurt wondered, slightly unnerved. But they'd already begun, and now some kids were staring. They couldn't back down now.

"Hey sweetheart," he snickered, knocking the boy's book out of his hands. "What’d your boyfriend say when you told him you were moving to Sherwood, Ohio?"

The boy stared at the empty space for a moment, then let out a small sigh that sounded more frustrated then anything. Kurt felt a grin creeping onto his face. Finally, a reaction. The boy's eyes moved slightly from him to Ram, but he didn't open his mouth to respond. A wise choice.

"My buddy Kurt here just asked you a question," Ram said, pushing into the boy. He "accidentally" bumped into the boy's shoulder, causing him to stumble slightly. Kurt snickered again. This was too easy.

"Hey Ram, doesn’t this cafeteria have a “no fags allowed” rule?" Kurt asked his friend. Ram stared at him, then let out a loud laugh. They boy's eyes narrowed, and he seemed to be thinking hard about something as he eyed the positioning of Kurt's feet, and Ram's proximity to the two of them. Obviously, Kurt was too busty enjoying this humiliation to notice.

"Sure does," Ram crowed, and he bent forwards, laughing hard. Kurt let a spurt of laughter come out, but it came to a halt when the boy finally opened his mouth.

"Then why did they let you two in?"

"What did you just say?" Kurt asked. He tried to tighten his hold again, but the boy had shifted positions and his elbow dug into Kurt. Somehow the boy had moved.

The boy eyed them both with a sort of boredom in his eyes, flickering with some sort of amusement. His lips curled half in disgust as he answered. "I'll repeat myself," he said slowly, almost as if he was talking to two slow, dimwitted numbskulls. And then he grinned a little and looked towards Ram. "But I doubt you'd understand. They seem to have an open-door policy for assholes, though, don't they?"

There was an infuriating mildness to the statement, and then he locked eyes with them, the smile daring Kurt and Ram to respond. Daring them to attack and play his game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm adding lines from some fo my favorite musicals in the beginning to try and add tone. If you search up the one I did for the last chapter, it's not fitting for the tone at all. I'm sorry! I just kinda like these musicals a ton, and its hard to find lyrics that fit every scene that aren't part of this musical.
> 
> anyways. 
> 
> I hope you've been enjoying this story! 
> 
> If you don't know, the lyrics at the beginning are from the song "Playing his game" in the amazing Death Note musical. sounds really stupid, but it's actually not. Take my word for it, one musical nerd to another. Either look up context or just listen on Youtube, the song is so good.
> 
> I'm not homophobic, I just think Kurt and Ram walked into that joke. I am in no way trying to insult anyone here, so if you feel insulted plz tell me


End file.
